At Your Convenience
by lifeinahole
Summary: Emma may be the drummer of a famous band now, but before that, she was a girl making questionable choices with a guy she doesn't expect to see on a stop to their singer's hometown when they stop for a quick visit. (Captain Swan au ONESHOT)
It's too early. She has not slept nearly enough for this shit.

"Emma."

Way too little sleep, coming off of a thirty city tour, with a late afternoon music festival in northern Maine finishing it off.

"Emm-emm."

"No," she asserts, not even bothering to open her eyes to Ruby's pestering.

"Emmy. Emsicle. Ermagerd!"

"Oh my _god_ , Ruby, we _talked about this._ "

"Don't care. You're being evicted." Ruby rips the covers off her in one swift motion, leaving Emma in the pajamas she stumbled into when they boarded the bus.

"What? Why?" Even to her own ears, Emma sounds whiny and unbearable, but this is what happens when they don't let her sleep enough, and it's been weeks since she's gotten a decent night's sleep.

"We're here. In Storybrooke. We're staying the night so they're going to maintenance the bus and equipment truck. We already have a room booked for you in the B&B. But I have a date with Mulan, so you've gotta get up."

There's more whining, and some cursing, and some sounds that are too incomprehensible to be classified as words, but Emma finally rolls off her bunk and forces her legs to stand. It takes some effort, but she grabs some items on the way out to disguise herself, unwilling to deal with the possibility of fans when she's barely conscious.

She's almost tripping off the bus in exhaustion a few minutes later, and she spots their road crew hard at work unloading their equipment. It's all neatly stacked on the pavement, with one of Anton's hoodies thrown over one pile. The night air hits Emma's bare arms and she shivers.

"You need this?" she asks as she picks up the hoodie.

"If I say yes, are you gonna bite my hand again?" Anton asks without pausing his leg of the unloading train.

She stares at him, less than amused at the joke at her expense when she's not even fully awake.

"Oh Emma, of course not. Go ahead. Which direction are you headin' in?" He watches as Emma points, the lights and sign for Storybrooke Gas & Mart pulling her like a beacon. He nods and waves her away, already pulling out his phone to shoot off a text as she walks.

All that separates Emma from a caffeine fix is one giant parking lot. It feels like miles, though, when she can't even figure out what time and day it is. She fixates on the fact that she's back in Storybrooke, Ruby's hometown, and home to more than one of her awkward early adulthood stories.

Just thinking that makes Emma think of blue eyes, makes her think of strong hands as they hold her hips steady, makes her think of a skilled tongue and a fantastic set of abs. It's like tripping in a hole in the sand, and suddenly she's not thinking of how exhausted she is, she's thinking of her last trip to Storybrooke and bare skin pressed against hers, his voice soft and encouraging as she rode them both to sweet, sweet bliss. She remembers thinking the words "best" and "orgasm" and "ever" all in a row, and not being able to believe it'd been at the, _ahem_ , hands of the one that'd produced it.

She's on the other side of the parking lot before she even realizes it, and she reaches for the door with her head down and high hopes that no one will look too closely. She makes her way straight to the refrigerators to grab energy drinks before wandering slowly back to the front to pay.

Emma knows she deserves the weird look she's getting from behind the counter. The longer she waits, the more she knows this, because she looks like a total weirdo.

She glances down at her pink flannel pajama pants, the over-sized hoodie from Anton, dark aviators that she thinks might belong to Ruby (and on top, add that it's almost midnight), a pair of green converse that have seen much better days, and a red wig with bangs falling to the top of the sunglasses. She wishes she'd had a chance to grab her glasses so she might be able to actually clearly see what she's looking at.

Despite the lack of customers behind her, and the four in front of her, Emma can't stop looking over her shoulder. She shuffles forward in her less-than-alert state as each customer before her is taken care of, all the while bouncing from foot to foot. If she doesn't move in some way, she will dig her fingers under the wig to scratch because she's discovered that it is the _itchiest_ thing in the whole damn world.

When it's finally her turn, Emma places the four pack of energy drinks on the worn, white Formica counter. She watches the last customer walk out the doors, trying to appear nonchalant as she does, but definitely breathing a little easier.

"Miss, are you in some sort of danger?" the cashier whispers.

She whips her head around so fast that the wig sticks to her Chapstick. Trying to pull it away without clawing her own face is a struggle, but she looks up and meets his blue gaze. So blue. _Let me write a song about these_ blue, _oh wait I already did_ blue. Those eyes, that jawline, the scruff, the perfect hair that she remembers how it feels to grip it as his tongue, that _fucking_ tongue, works her higher and higher. She forgets how to speak. She doesn't need her glasses to see him, to see that he's somehow gotten _more_ attractive since she last saw him.

"I can call someone if you are," he continues when she doesn't answer. "I have friends in less-than-reputable places." His eyebrows dance as he says this, his voice dipping low and mischievous with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It's an expression she clearly remembers from between her legs and just _really_ , what is her _life?_

She's at a loss for words, completely and utterly. Maybe it's because her brain stopped functioning hours ago after that last show. That at least explains why she's still clutching the cardboard packaging, even as it rests on the counter.

He leans forward, and there's the aftershave or cologne or shampoo that Emma remembers so clearly, and she's a little worried at this point that he'll pop the bubble of her memories and tell her he's got bodies in a freezer in his basement, or a pit like that guy from _Silence of the Lambs_.

"Lass, I'm joking," he stage-whispers. He rips open the side of the four-pack that's facing him, cracks one of the cans, and hands it to her. "You look like you could use this. On the house." He tops this all off with a wink and a more brilliant version of that original smile.

With care, she pulls off the sunglasses and has the satisfaction of watching him flounder for a moment. He never seemed like the kind to be knocked off balance easily, but apparently seeing her again, watching her emerge from behind the face-eating glasses, is too much for him to handle. It's not the fact that she's one-third of the most popular female group in the country at the moment. He knew her before Ruby booked the first show.

His eyes look between hers as his tongue plays at the corner of his mouth. "Swan."

"Jones," Emma responds, finally taking the can that he's holding out to her. Killian Jones, to be exact. The one and only, and the one Emma has catalogued in her mind as the "Three Night Stand."

"Anton told me to expect someone, but failed to mention it'd be you." At her blank look, Killian gestures to the hoodie. "Your jumper, love. Anton is a mate of mine. Well, sort of. The gentle giant and I had an interesting first encounter, but I like to believe I've won him over by now. He may uh," and here he pauses, scratching behind his ear in a gesture that screams of nerves, and one Emma has never witnessed before, like he's afraid he'll be scolded for what he will say next. "He may have texted me to keep an eye out for you."

Emma hums noncommittally, instead taking a deep pull from the cold can in her hand. She suddenly and fervently wishes it was alcoholic in nature, but the caffeinated carbonation hits just the right spot going down, and she finds herself chugging half the can with barely a thought. She puts the can down and closes her eyes, letting a content and satisfied smile fill her features as the buzz already starts in her veins. "That was so long overdue," she says, her tone breezy, much lighter than anything she's managed to say before this point.

"Nice to see you've joined the land of the living," he remarks, smirking as she jumps at the intrusion of her private moment with the caffeine. "Please, don't stop on my account. Just stay there a moment while I lock up and close the place down, aye?"

"I don't need a babysitter, you know," Emma responds as she digs through her purse for money to pay for the drinks.

"Don't I know it," he says, doing something unreasonably attractive with his eyebrows. He waves her money away in the next moment, adding, "I already told you, on the house, love."

With nothing else to do about it, Emma just shrugs and keeps sipping at the remaining liquid in the can. She watches as Killian easily hops the counter and moves around to the door, flipping the lock and pulling on a chain that shuts off the bright 'open' sign. He moves away again, but Emma's eyes remain on the scene in front of her. He must flip a switch in the back, because the empty parking lot is soon plunged into darkness.

"How is Dear Ruby?" Killian asks from somewhere behind the counter. Emma is still too entranced with staring at the quiet main road in town, watching as solo cars make their way up and down, as if abiding by some unspoken curfew.

"She's Ruby. You know how she is."

The quiet chuckle that answers her is accompanied by the clinking of change as he counts down his drawer. "Aye, that I do. One summer she was sweeter than her grandmother's peach cobbler and the next she was something bordering on tart and rotten." He pauses, and she hears his thoughts spinning with whether or not he should've said any of that. "In the best way possible, of course."

She turns back to look at him, then. "Of course," Emma muses, the smile on her lips and in her eyes giving away that she knows _exactly_ what he means, because she shared a dorm with Ruby in college, and she's shared a bus with her during each of their tours, and they've seen more mornings together than either of them would like. She certainly knows.

Now that she's not fidgeting so much, Emma lets herself wander around, looking at the various products on the shelves. She comes back to the counter when she's done, keeping one ear trained to the sound of Killian closing up shop. The itchy wig in question comes back to the forefront of her mind and Emma grumbles, trying her best to relieve the itchy sensation, but ultimately deciding that it's safe to remove it. With gusto, she rips the wig off her head, sighing in relief at the instantaneous end to the annoyance.

He calls to her, asking some question, but she doesn't hear it in her haste to make herself more comfortable. "What was that?" she yells back. Emma, now without the wig, takes the opportunity to flip her head down to shake out her hair.

But Killian comes back at that exact moment, rounding the corner just as she flips her head down, not realizing that she's standing so close to the edge of the counter and well… Emma's face, meet Killian's crotch. Again.

She tries to bring her head back up as quickly as possible, which knocks her off balance, and she almost goes tumbling backwards. She would've ended up on her ass if it wasn't for Killian grabbing her upper arms and steadying her again. Her hands wind up on his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the innocuous polo shirt, and she can't help but fondly remember the firm texture, the chest hair that she's seen on full display that's just barely peeking out. There's definitely more definition now that she's getting a first-hand feel.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," she spits out quickly, realizing how flushed and flustered she feels, both exacerbated by his closeness, the worried but still amused expression on his face. He bites his bottom lip, releasing her slowly and shuffling back a step.

"Quite all right. Not every day I get a beautiful woman falling at my," he pauses, smug grin spreading across his lips as he holds back a laugh, "feet."

She scoffs and moves away, crossing her arms and doing her best to pretend that all of this has had no effect on her. She's very good at lying to herself.

Killian clears his throat, shaking his head in a way that seems to scatter the memories of their history to the wind. "Anyway, would you like food? I know a great place down the road."

"I'm hardly dressed to go in public."

He grins, pushing a lock of her blonde hair back over her shoulder with a brush of his fingers. "Believe me, you won't stick out at all," he reassures her.

Checking the clock, she watches it tick over to 12:15am, and she mentally shakes her head. She's been back around him all of twenty minutes and she's just as lost now as she was when they first met, when they second met, and most definitely when they third met. She tries to reinforce the walls in her mind, but knows it's useless.

She considers him again, trying to look stern and uninterested. "Fine," she finally agrees. "But no one better judge me."

"In Storybrooke, we take care of our own. Surely you know that by now, Swan."

After locking up the store, Killian leads her over to his car, going so far as to hold the door open for her. She rolls her eyes but still ends up smiling. He's certainly off the beaten path of gentlemen, but the gestures are all appreciated. True to his word, they're only on the main road for a minute and a half before he's pulling into a small parking lot. There are less than a handful of other vehicles in front of the small establishment, and she lights up when she sees the sign. Even with her shitty vision, she knows where they are at this point.

Emma's out of the car before Killian has it in park, almost skipping through the front patio with its plastic tables and chairs abandoned for the night before she's in the doorway looking for the proprietor. When Granny Lucas herself appears from the door to the kitchen, she smiles knowingly as she holds out her arms.

There are few things in life that can rival a hug from Granny, and Emma is happily enveloped into the older woman's embrace.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Granny Lucas grouses as she leans back and cups both of Emma's cheeks. "Or what the _Killian_ dragged in." She doesn't miss the tone in Granny's voice, and Killian sidles up beside her, edging Emma away for a hug of his own.

"It's a pleasure to see you, as always, Lady Lucas. I had a feeling Emma here would feel at home in your fine dining establishment."

Granny pats his cheek, none too gently, rolling her eyes and shooing them to a booth along the windows. "None of your sass, young man. Go. I know what you're both gonna get anyway, so I'll just ring it in. It'll be ready in a few."

They settle onto the vinyl-covered benches, at a loss for what to say to each other until Granny drops off a hot chocolate for Emma and a coffee for Killian. In just a short time, their food is delivered and Emma is engrossed in her grilled cheese sandwich, the buttery bread the perfect texture of toasted and the cheese perfectly melted, along with a generous pile of onion rings fried to perfection. She doesn't even notice what Killian gets, doesn't even notice if he eats it, since this is a treat she's not really had since she and Ruby moved into their own apartment in college and her grandmother came for a visit to help them get settled.

It's not until the last crumb is licked off her index finger that she looks up and remembers that she isn't totally alone, her eyes immediately looking back to the tabletop when she sees the amused and slightly affectionate expression on Killian's face.

"It's been a while since I've had a home-cooked meal," Emma admits, using her napkin to wipe her mouth and distract her embarrassment.

"I told you, love. We take care of our own here. I had a feeling you'd appreciate the location. It's been a while since you've been here, so I figured it's been just as long since you've gotten to see her."

There's part of Emma that's ready to talk about that last visit, but another part that wants to hide away from it all, away from sneaking out in the middle of the night while he slept peacefully. She'd looked back at him, just once, before she left his bedroom. He was a pinch lankier, not as smooth as he'd appeared when she encountered him tonight. He distracts her with filling her in on town news and updates on people he assumes she knows, most of which are correct, and she's a little relieved this is where the conversation goes.

It's no surprise when the diner closes down just a half hour later that Granny hustles them out without letting them pay. She gives Emma one more hug and tells her to not be a stranger while they're there, and pinches Killian's cheek hard, telling him to take care of her honorary granddaughter.

"I won't let harm come to a single hair on her head, Lady Lucas," he tells her gravely. He winks at Emma as he holds the car door open for her again, waving genially to Granny as he rounds the car to climb in the driver's side.

"Where to now, love?"

"I don't really have anywhere else to be," she admits. With Ruby out wherever with Mulan, Emma has no desire to try tracking her down. She's willing to bet that the lovebirds, Snow (her father was a wonderfully-intentioned hippie) and David – Newly Engaged and Sickeningly in L.O.V.E. – have probably already checked in to the hotel with amorous intents.

"What to do with a misplaced rock star?" he wonders out loud, and Emma snorts.

"Rock star is pushing it, bud."

"You're much pricklier since last I met you, Swan. But you've upgraded me to 'bud' now. How much more good behavior do I need to exhibit before you call me by my first name again?" He glances at her, and their eyes meet, a shared memory of his name a chant on her lips as she came apart in his arms, his face buried between her breasts, their naked flesh scorching where it touched.

"We'll see," she gives away, once the memory is shaken from the back of her mind.

They both focus on the road as Killian maneuvers the car, the drive taking just another few minutes (there's something wonderful to be said about small towns; it never takes them long to get anywhere) before he's turning into a darkened lot that leads to the docks.

She doesn't wait for him to open her door again, instead opting to climb out and get a whiff of the salty sea air as soon as the car has come to a stop. It's been so long since she's been anywhere near the ocean, and she's missed it so very much.

"Did I make a good choice?"

"You did good, Jones. Keep it up."

He follows as she wanders down onto the weathered wooden planks, the satisfying noise of their footsteps the only sounds besides the faint ringing of a dinghy, the blow of a whistle signaling third shift's lunch at the cannery, the lapping of the waves against the rocky shore. There's a bench situated looking out over the water, and Emma drops onto it, happy to soak it all in even if she's feeling the breeze despite her layers.

Before he takes a seat next to her, Killian drapes a leather jacket over her shoulders. He must've retrieved it when they got out of the car, and she's grateful for the extra protection against the wind. She turns her head, letting her nose drag along the collar for a moment and taking small, even breaths to hide how she's inhaling his scent. She turns to face him again, only to meet his questioning gaze. For all intents and purposes, he looks relaxed, with his arms stretched along the back of the bench and his legs kicked out in front of him. It's one hell of a façade.

There's tension in his shoulders, as if he's wondering what she'll do next, and she wonders herself. Because here he is, the one that she's written songs about and hidden it well; the one she fantasizes about when she has an hour alone on the bus and has some much needed personal time. He's the one she almost wishes she wouldn't have snuck out on, even though it's the songs about him that got them noticed in the first place. No, everything that was meant to happen did, and it wasn't in her nature to stay back then.

She slides across the bench to press herself against his side, and his breath stutters a bit, surprise at the contact evident. "Emma," he murmurs, and she can hear it echoed in her memories, _"Oh Emma,"_ as they both came back down to earth.

"'No one's ever said my name like you did,'" she quotes, watching his face carefully to see if he recognizes the line.

The short burst of laughter that erupts from him is stunned, and a relieved breath leaves her lungs as his arm slides off the bench to wrap around her shoulders.

"I always wondered. But your name was never on any of the songwriting credits, so I figured it was happenstance."

"Snow and Ruby know I don't want people asking me questions. So they take co-credit on anything that would normally have my name on it. It just makes me look like one hell of a drummer and nothing more."

"Wise move, love."

There's a comfortable silence for a few minutes until she speaks again. "I have a room, you know. At the bed and breakfast? You wanna?"

His thigh jumps when her hand comes to rest on it, and it makes her smile, especially since whatever he says next is going to directly force her to face their shared past.

The first time they met, she'd hated him. Had practically locked him in a room just to escape from his understanding gaze. She slept with him for the first time that night, in the bathroom of the party they both attended, her back against the mirror and the deed done quick and dirty while they reminded each other how much they were hated by the other.

The second time, they annoyed the daylights out of each other all the way from the bar they'd both ended up at until they were back to his apartment, where they almost made it to the bed, but ended up fucking in the hallway. She slept in his bed that night, spent most of the next day in it, and left much the same way they began until she was back in Ruby's presence and they were heading back to Boston.

The third time, well, that was so different for so many reasons. Two years had passed since the last time, and there was no bar involved, no crazy house party with too many college kids and too much liquor. This time there was a small gathering of close friends around a fire, with Killian and Emma seated next to each other. As others started filing out or making arrangements to sleep for the night, Killian's hand was nudging against Emma's on their shared blanket. As the host doused the fire, Emma realized that Ruby had long since disappeared (what would be just the first night she spent with Mulan, it turns out) and Killian and Emma were the last ones there.

He'd offered her a ride, but she redirected him back to his place again, where they finally took their time, and took, and _took_. And then she just… left.

"Ah, depriving me of you sneaking out of my apartment this time, are you?"

"Listen, Killian," but she doesn't get to finish that thought, that apology; because he's nuzzling just below her ear in the blink of an eye.

"Say it again, love," he whispers, and while they've both aged a few years, filled out and rounded and grown, the timbre of his voice is the same sultry and desperate that she remembers in her dreams, so she can do nothing but oblige.

"Killian," she sighs out, and his fingers are under her chin to turn her to face him.

"All forgiven, Emma. Just… Don't run again, aye?"

She licks her lips, glancing at his and unable to promise him verbally, but hoping he'll get the meaning when she leans forward and presses her lips to his.

He melts into the kiss, trailing his fingers along her collarbones first before sliding them around to the back of her neck and into her hair. She's in desperate need of a shower, and her hair is still tangled from having it under the wig, but he handles it like he's touching fine silk and she can't help but melt right with him.

-x-

In a way, it's a little like déjà vu, getting woken up long before she's ready, but at least this time it's not Ruby harassing her awake. Instead, it's Killian's mouth on her nipple, his fingers dancing down the side of her unoccupied breast and down her ribcage. The journey doesn't end until two fingers are slipping inside of her, his teeth nipping at the same time and suddenly she is _up._

She arches off the bed, Killian's name slipping from her lips once, twice, and thrice urgently as he keeps up all ministrations until she's tipping over the edge for the nth time that night.

"You're so bloody gorgeous, Emma." This time when he says it, he's leaning up on one elbow to look down at her, and her heart constricts a little as they fall into even deeper territory than they'd been the last time they were together.

"I didn't know how to stay," she admits to him. She admits it because she needs him to know, and now she's going to have to leave again when they head back to Boston and for once, she doesn't want to. "And now I _can't_ stay."

"I would never ask it of you, darling. Just come back. Come visit in between recording and tours. Stop by at your convenience, your leisure, your whatever, just bloody well come back."

"And what, you'll just wait for me?"

"Aye." That simple. No hesitation, not a blink of an eye. Just straight out. "I'm in this for the long haul, Swan. Would've been from the very start but someone had a bit of a trust issue, and had a problem with me telling her she was an open book to me." He winks when he's finished speaking and Emma just rolls her eyes. It's hard to reconcile all of their past selves with the two of them occupying the bed at this moment.

She urges him to fill the space between her thighs until he's sliding inside her once more, and she hates how cliché her mind has gone but it feels exactly like coming home. And for a girl who didn't have one for the first eighteen years of her life, that's a big statement.

Killian stays with her the whole night, and through breakfast the next morning. And when Ruby calls her up to say they're staying a little longer, that she wants to spend more time with Mulan, and David and Snow have decided to check out viable wedding locations in town for when they decide on their date, Emma has no qualms checking out of the rented room and shuffling straight into Killian's bed to soak up as much time there as she can get.

The rest of it they'll figure out as they go, and for once, Emma is satisfied letting the unknown stay just that way if it means further defining what's right next to her, in front of her, surrounding her, and finally catching up to her after all these years.


End file.
